


Mea Culpa

by KittyHawke



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Catholic Guilt, Developing Relationship, First Fight, Fluff and Angst, It is certainly A Development, M/M, Pre-Canon, You can take it any which way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:55:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25919932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyHawke/pseuds/KittyHawke
Summary: Nicolo has died more often than Yusuf. He isn’t sure of the exact discrepancy between them – the majority of his extra deaths happened before learning of Lykon and realising that it was worthwhile to keep track – but he’s sure that the number is in double figures. It isn’t something that either of them likes to think about, Yusuf due to sadness and Nicolo due to shame.It is his fault that they are so far apart.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 45
Kudos: 437





	Mea Culpa

Nicolo has died more often than Yusuf. He isn’t sure of the exact discrepancy between them – the majority of his extra deaths happened before learning of Lykon and realising that it was worthwhile to keep track – but he’s sure that the number is in double figures. It isn’t something that either of them likes to think about, Yusuf due to sadness and Nicolo due to shame.

It is his fault that they are so far apart.

They had had different ideas about their immortality at the start. Once it became clear that killing each other was futile, Yusuf had adjusted quickly to their new life and hadn’t sought another reason for their inability to die. In fact, when he began to trust Nicolo, he had made excited suggestions about following the trade routes to the Far East.

“Now we don’t have to worry about dying on the way, it would be a great opportunity to see what that part of the world is like,” he said. “I’d love to visit it.”

(As was often the case in those days, his plan had been superior. Heading east was how they’d ultimately crossed paths with Andy and Quyhn.)

Nicolo adapted less quickly, slow to relinquish the idea that God had a plan for him and he needed to figure it out. If he wasn’t meant to kill Yusuf, was he supposed to stay with him for some reason? Were they supposed to go somewhere, find something, complete a mission that would allow them to die? Thoughts travelled in a circle around his head and all the while, his feet were moving too. Following Yusuf around this part of the world changed his outlook on almost everything he’d been taught, often in painful ways.

He had realised on the battlefield outside Jerusalem that its destruction was in pursuit of men’s goals and not God’s. He had realised after a few weeks of observing his new companion that Yusuf was a good man. In many ways he bore more hallmarks of a civilised man than Nicolo did, with his quick grasp of languages and incredible literacy, and it had been hard to discover that he was the inadequate one when compared to one of the people he’d been taught were beneath him. A few months on the road were enough to prove that this was not an exception.

The people in this part of the world were welcoming and intelligent. Their goods were of the finest quality. Their cities were open to many nationalities, different creeds and colours trading side by side. The cities themselves were largely superior to those in Europe. Their guest houses provided greater comfort and people bathed frequently. Nicolo was honestly a little annoyed at Yusuf for pushing him into making use of the facilities. He had been accustomed to being dirty all his life, but once he was used to cleanliness, there was no going back and it made their next sojourn into the desert far more uncomfortable than it needed to be.

Nicolo had bought into the story that his people were bringing civilisation to this area, but it was already here, and the Europeans were like a fire sweeping through and destroying everything that lay before them. He was on the wrong side of the conflict and was tortured by guilt for what he’d taken part in. He wondered if God had given him immortality and bound him to Yusuf for the purposes of atonement, or as a way of absorbing the sins going on around him. It was likely very blasphemous to think that way, but surely God would look more unkindly on killing innocents. Nicolo had only done what he believed The Lord had wanted, and he had never harmed anyone who wasn’t an enemy soldier. When compared to his pillaging former comrades, was that enough to mark him as worthy of this chance?

One year after they downed their weapons, he had put the idea to Yusuf.

The stars looked like glittering diamonds against velvet. The fire between them was the only other light source from here until the horizon. Yusuf was sketching in his notebook and Nicolo watched him through the flames. He wondered why he had ever hated this man who had been nothing but good to him, no matter how undeserving he was. Yusuf had bought him new clothes in the last city they passed through, better suited for this climate, out of his own pocket. It was one of many kindnesses that he had given, seemingly without hope of anything in return, not that Nicolo could provide any repayment.

Yusuf’s ability to communicate in his language was the only reason they did not exist in total silence, and almost every conversation they had involved Nicolo learning from him. He knew he was annoying, constantly asking basic questions about Islam and tripping over Arabic words in a desperate attempt to prove that he was trying, but Yusuf was so patient with him and never made him feel like a burden. Nicolo had nothing to teach the other man. Whenever he spoke of his religion, Yusuf would nod and remark that the feature existed in Islam too, simply under a different name.

It shamed him that he had come all this way with no knowledge of Yusuf’s language and culture, treating the native people as blank sheets of paper to colour with his own views. It shamed him that Yusuf was keeping him alive and he could offer him nothing except another sword.

“Is there something on my face?” Yusuf asked without looking up, smiling.

“Why don’t you hate me?” Nicolo asked.

Yusuf looked at him, charcoal stilling on the page. “It would make our journey very uncomfortable if I did” he said.

Nicolo looked down at the sand, watching his hands swing uselessly between his knees.

“What are you thinking?” Yusuf asked. Nicolo shook his head.

“Talk to me,” the other man urged gently. “Who will you talk to if not me?”

“Have you ever thought about killing me?”

“I have killed you many times” Yusuf said. Nicolo smiled at the pride in his voice.

“Yes, but I mean…” He paused, looking for the words. He already knew that Yusuf wouldn’t agree to the idea, but he had to offer. He had to give him the option.

“If you were ever angry, you could kill me. You wouldn’t be a murderer and you could take revenge over and over if you felt the need.”

“Revenge for what, Nicolo?” Yusuf asked quietly. He looked up and saw that the sketchbook now lay closed on Yusuf’s knee, and he was peering concernedly through the flames.

“For what I’ve done, for what my people are still doing.”

“You killed me, I killed you. We are even,” Yusuf replied casually. “And what your people are doing is not on your shoulders. You left them.”

“I want to make amends.”

Yusuf laughed, his teeth shining in the flickering light. “How do you think dying by a sword that cannot keep you down will make amends?” he asked. “At the last town we visited, you gave all of your food to children sleeping on the street. You’ve already shown yourself worthy of forgiveness and I forgave you long ago. If there is someone else you need to make amends to, do so via good deeds that will make a difference to people.”

He lifted his sketchbook and his charcoal once more, brow furrowed in concentration as he traced the lines of whatever scene had so captured his imagination. Nicolo watched the fire until his eyes hurt and then turned his attention to the inky sky. The conversation was over.

(After 900 years, he doubted that Yusuf remembered that night. It was an insignificant number of minutes in the grand scheme of things, but Nicolo still remembered it.)

He had taken Yusuf’s words to heart and thrown himself into improving the lives of anyone who allowed him to try, from the old widows who needed help on their farms to starving beggars who grasped for food. Even if he could only offer a smile, a blessing in Arabic or some money in exchange for goods at the market, it all felt important. At least he was displaying that he was no threat and briefly lightening the hearts of others.

He did not wholly give up the idea of using his immortality for atonement. It simply changed its form into something less direct. In battle he offered his body as a shield, mostly for Yusuf, but also to protect any nearby civilians. The intention wasn’t to die, but if it were to happen, far better that it was him than anyone else. Yusuf was a more precious soul, kind and intelligent and better than Nicolo could ever hope to be. It was no sacrifice to take the beatings or the blades that were meant for him. Nicolo couldn’t think of a more worthy reason to die than to protect the best person he’d ever known.

He deceived himself that Yusuf didn’t understand what he was doing, or didn’t care. Why would he care? They always came back anyway. Yusuf must have noticed that Nicolo died more often than he did, but he never said anything.

Until the last time it happened.

They were in the mountains, the greenery a welcome break from the desert conditions. Over a meal in the guest house they had heard of raiders secreted in the hills, coming down to terrorise the village at night. For the sake of some coin, a few nights in a comfortable bed and the good feeling that comes from doing the right thing, they offered their services in ridding the locals of this scourge.

The men were hiding in caves overlooking the valley. It turned out that they were not opportunistic thieves, but rather a number of Nicolo’s old comrades, knights who had deserted the battlefield like him.

There were eight of them and, immortal or not, Yusuf and Nicolo were outnumbered. It was a gruelling fight and a battle to remember for a number of reasons. It was the first mission that Nicolo had failed to complete, the first fight he had lost – truly lost, not simply died on the way to victory – since Yusuf killed him, and it had caused the first genuine argument between them. They had disagreed before, but always in small and easily forgotten ways.

It was his fault. He had tried to be everywhere at once, sacrificing the battle itself to ensure that Yusuf remained unharmed, and gotten himself mortally wounded by a blade. Only in that moment, lying in Yusuf’s arms with his guts in his hands, had his mistake become clear. It was too late by then. The soldiers had dragged him out and thrown him off the cliff before he was quite dead. His body clung to life for long enough to let him feel the pain of his spine breaking, the horror of knowing that Yusuf was up there alone, before darkness descended.

He awoke on the dusty ground, lying helplessly as he waited for his body to mend itself and let him walk again, and the first thing he saw upon rising was Yusuf. They had thrown his body from the cliff as well. His neck was still rotating back into a natural position as Nicolo crawled to him, soft words on his lips to welcome him back to the living world, words that were never spoken.

Yusuf was furious at him. Not even when they were killing each other had Nicolo seen him so angry.

He still remembered being rooted to the spot while Yusuf shouted in Arabic. Nicolo’s ability to speak that language was always greater than his ability to understand it, and with Yusuf spitting words so rapidly, it was impossible to grasp at more than a third of his meaning. Looking back, he appreciated the kindness. Yusuf needed to vent when he was angry and was typically indifferent to causing offence, but even at that moment he had tried to protect Nicolo from his barbs.

“I was trying to keep you safe!” Nicolo snapped, cutting through the rant.

Yusuf paused mid-yell and stared at him. “We work together,” he said. “That is how it’s supposed to be. You’re supposed to trust me.”

“I do trust you. We were outnumbered, and as much as I hate to admit it, I used to be one of those people. They were going to torture you.”

“And I don’t care about that,” he said. “I care that you decided to take on eight men by yourself rather than let me help you. Do you think I don’t see what you’re doing? You’re not subtle, Nicolo, jumping in front of swords like that. Do you have any idea how it feels to watch you die?”

His fingers dug into the ground as he held back his retort, sought to calm down, which wasn’t easy when Yusuf’s dark eyes were blazing like that. Did he have any idea? What a stupid question. Why did Yusuf suppose he flung himself in front of swords on his behalf? It wasn’t because it was any fun.

“Yes, I think I probably do” he said, pushing the words through his teeth.

“And yet you make me go through that all the time. It’s selfish” Yusuf accused.

“It’s not selfish. It’s the right thing to do.”

Yusuf scoffed and started cursing in Arabic again.

“Your life is worth more than mine” Nicolo added.

“In whose eyes?” Yusuf demanded. “Yours?”

“In the eyes of anyone who isn’t blind.”

“Then I am blind.”

Nicolo rolled his eyes. One day he would realise the sincerity behind these words, but he had never heard anyone else speak like that and his first instinct was to feel like he was being mocked.

“I think you are,” he muttered, rising to his feet. “Only a blind man would be so ungrateful to have a companion who values his life so highly.”

“I would rather die a thousand times than feel my core ripped out of me again and again because you want to be a martyr.”

Nicolo hissed angrily at hearing yet another of those ridiculous, overblown statements that Yusuf was so fond of. “Do not call me a martyr!”

“If you think so highly of me, I ask you to stop breaking my heart because you are adding to a wound which has never healed.”

Nicolo swore and kicked a stone. “I can never do the right thing!”

“Perhaps because your idea of the right thing always seems to involve hurting others.”

He took a breath. He waited for Yusuf to say more, but he remained silent, standing by his words. He felt his heart turn to stone, forming a protective shield against any further wounds that Yusuf’s tongue might inflict.

“I will forgive you, but you can never take that back,” he said calmly. “You should rest now. I will see you later.”

“Nicolo…”

“Go back to town” he said, walking past and ignoring the hand that started to reach for him.

“Where are you going?” Yusuf asked.

“Elsewhere.”

His anger was ice to Yusuf’s fire. Where the other man raged like a volcano and almost immediately forgot the quarrel afterwards, Nicolo could hold a grudge for years. Admittedly his form of grudge-holding was ignoring the offending party’s existence, so they often failed to notice unless they engaged with him directly.

As it turned out, Yusuf was an exception to that rule.

He walked for ten minutes before sitting down next to a bush, arms wrapped around his body and feeling like he was eight years old and had fled the house after an argument with his father. He never went far, always settled down somewhere near the house and waited for his mother or a maid to come and fetch him. To prove that he was loved and wanted even when he was cruel.

Of course Yusuf didn’t indulge these childish games. Nicolo hadn’t expected him to, not when he was the one to storm off.

He spent a few hours staking out the cave where the former soldiers – bandits, as they now were, which seemed a better description anyway – had made camp. He was able to kill one of them who came outside to relieve himself, a small form of retribution. When tiredness crept up on him, he secreted himself in a bush and tried to sleep. It proved too uncomfortable to tolerate.

His short time with Yusuf was enough to undo decades of church teachings, and apparently enough to undo a lifelong preference for sleeping alone. His back was cold and felt exposed to threats from the rear without him. He didn’t know how long he lay there with his eyes stubbornly closed, and his mind constantly alert and listening for every small sound, before he gave up and climbed back to his feet.

His plan was to go back to the village, to the guest house where he expected Yusuf to be, and ask forgiveness. Forgiveness for what, he wasn’t quite sure. He would not apologise for trying to protect Yusuf or reacting angrily to his harsh words, but he was willing to admit that the man had been right to call him selfish for his actions. He would grovel for that and hope Yusuf didn’t send him away. The idea of that caused fear to claw at him with icy hands.

He stepped onto the path worn by travellers and started to walk, his eyes flitting between the shadows on either side in case of ambush. Nevertheless a movement in the darkness still managed to surprise him and he dropped into a fighting stance, hand ready to draw his weapon.

“Who’s there?”

“I’m looking for my friend” Yusuf said, coming towards him. Nicolo sighed and relaxed, glad of the darkness to conceal his relief.

“So am I.” He released his grip on the sword and moved forward to meet the other man. “I thought you were going to rest.”

“I didn’t want to leave without you,” Yusuf said, glancing up at the cliffs. “There are eight men up there. I thought perhaps you would try to charge in alone.”

Nicolo resisted the urge to punch him in the shoulder. “I’m not a fool. I killed one of them who left the group. The others were too drunk to notice.”

Yusuf nodded. “I imagine they are asleep by now. The two of us together could make short work of them.”

“Yes.”

He followed Yusuf’s gaze. He hadn’t even considered going back tonight, but he was right, the cover of darkness when their defences were down was the perfect opportunity. His mind started working through the positions they should take, whether one should guard the entrance and catch escapees, or if they should go in together and split the men between them.

“I apologise for offending you.”

Nicolo turned, jarred from his assessments, and found Yusuf watching him solemnly. It was a little surprising that he had apologised first, but then again the man truly didn’t seem able to hold onto a conflict for long. It was admirable, but Nicolo couldn’t let him smooth the troubled waters with a lie. It would only breed resentment and come back to them later.

“You meant what you said” he said.

Yusuf shook his head. “Not all of it. The last part was a lie spoken in anger and it should never have left my lips.”

“You were right.”

“No…”

“We are different men, you and I,” Nicolo insisted gently. “Your hand was meant to hold a pen and mine a sword.”

“You have far more to offer the world than a sword, Nicolo.”

A shiver went down his spine at the sound of his name from those lips. Did Yusuf know that he had that effect on him?

“You bring so much good to the world,” Yusuf continued. “You have fainted from overwork in order to spare the elderly from hard labour. You talk to beggars on the street and have endless patience for the children. You care so much for the people around you. I’ve seen how kind you are.”

He scoffed and looked away, smiling bitterly. “These are mere attempts to atone for the sins I have committed.”

“Does the reason matter so long as you are doing the right thing?”

He shook his head. “It is not true altruism, not as you are capable of.”

To his surprise, Yusuf laughed. “Do you think me to be selfless? Haven’t you noticed that the work we do always involves payment in the form of money, shelter or food?”

“The way you have cared for me since we met is selfless. You have expended untold generosity with no hope of a reward.”

“The reward is your companionship.”

The bluntness of the statement took him off-guard and he stared for a moment too long, before rallying his words. “You need not be so kind for my companionship. I have nowhere else to go.”

Yusuf sighed. “You are too hard on yourself, Nicolo. I do not know if you truly believe yourself unworthy of kindness, but you are not. You have done terrible things and I will not pretend otherwise, but you are a good man. I know this as surely as I know the sky is blue. Why should I wish to be unkind to a man who is already so unkind to himself?”

Nicolo knew that the question did not want an answer, but he had to bite his lip to avoid giving one anyway. He didn’t understand why Yusuf bore him no animosity, only that it was so. Sometimes that was enough to calm his mind. At other times he went half-crazy searching for the trap, and as time passed and it seemed less likely that Yusuf was counting favours to be cashed in, it was becoming harder to make sense of exactly what the man wanted from him.

As if he could hear Nicolo’s mind spinning, Yusuf added, “I wish you to be at my side because you want to be, not because you feel that you have no choice in the matter.”

Nicolo felt a tickle in his chest, rising into his throat, which made him want to laugh. He might have given into it if he wasn’t conscious of the sleeping enemies above them. He wanted to ask why Yusuf supposed he got stabbed so often, if he believed that Nicolo was with him reluctantly, but he was in no mood to begin another exchange of barbs.

“I do,” he said plainly. He looked away, up at the hill, finding it easier to speak so honestly when he wasn’t looking at Yusuf. “I am compelled to remain at your side only by admiration, not obligation. I was afraid that you would send me away.”

“I would never,” Yusuf said, his voice ringing with quiet sincerity. Nicolo felt a warm hand on his shoulder and jumped, surprised that he had moved so close. “But Nicolo, you must stop. It hurts me so much to see you die unnecessarily.”

“I come back. I always do.”

“I know, but it never gets easier. You know that too, or else you wouldn’t keep getting in the way of my fights.”

He grabbed a fistful of Yusuf’s clothes and turned, pulling him into a tight embrace. Yes, he knew that. His mind could be as logical as it liked, but it couldn’t banish the fear in his heart that something would go wrong. The thought of Yusuf dying for real was like a black maw opening up, swallowing the future. _I would have to kill myself_ was always the first thought when he allowed himself to consider it. He couldn’t imagine continuing to live without him, and wasn’t that a scary thought? The kind of thought that made him want to push Yusuf away in case it wasn’t too late to reverse the change, and at the same time always caused him to pull the man closer instead.

“I apologise for making you feel that I don’t trust you,” he said, muffling his voice in Yusuf’s shoulder. “I do. I simply can’t stand to see you hurt.”

Yusuf’s arms moved around his back and squeezed. “Do you believe it’s easier for me?”

“You cope better.”

“You haven’t seen the tears I’ve shed.”

“You haven’t seen the blood I’ve shed,” Nicolo retorted. “God sent you to me and I think it’s because you make me a better person. I have to keep you safe.”

“Have you considered that perhaps we are meant to be partners?”

Nicolo moved back, instinctively alarmed by that term, before his brain caught up and offered an alternative meaning. “Equals in everything?” he suggested cautiously.

Yusuf smiled affectionately. “Yes.”

He smiled back, comforted by the idea. He and Yusuf were not exactly equals – so long as they stayed in this part of the world, he would always be one step behind his companion – but he liked the thought of their relationship changing from penitent and charitable caretaker to men who lived, worked and fought together on an equal footing. It was a blessing he didn’t yet feel wholly deserving of, but Yusuf was offering it and he would grasp it with both hands.

“I would be honoured to be your equal.”

They christened their new relationship with the blood of former knights. A battle against drunken men was hardly challenging, but nevertheless they were a formidable partnership. To fight together as true equals, without one taking the lead over the other, felt like a dance. He covered Yusuf’s back and was watched over in turn, both of them heading off enemies on the other’s behalf when it seemed that they might be overwhelmed, but trusting their partner’s skills as surely as they did their own.

Nicolo didn’t realise it was over until he turned to find another opponent and saw only Yusuf, cutting down his last foe and turning with blood on his sword and an exhilarated smile on his face. _He is beautiful_ , Nicolo thought, and his heart ached for something he couldn’t yet name. They looked at each other in silence, breathing heavily. Yusuf’s eyes were glistening brightly and Nicolo couldn’t help raising a smile, matching the joy that radiated off him.

“Do I have something on my face?” he asked.

Yusuf laughed and strode towards him. He captured Nicolo’s face between his hands, pressing their foreheads together. His eyes shone with emotions too great for words.

“I know,” Nicolo answered. He closed his eyes like a cat in the sun and lifted a hand, carefully touching his companion’s beard and, when that wasn’t rejected, letting his palm rest against Yusuf’s warm cheek. “Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you enjoyed. If you did, a kudos or comment would mean so much to me. Thank you and have a good day.


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